The Titled Ones in an Untitled Undertaking
by Olivia Beige
Summary: Teenagers, Godric's Hollow, and strangeness.


**Originally posted: October 2012.**

* * *

_It is Godric's Hollow._

He was not being stubborn and wading through denial. Because, before Merlin, he was walking on the very street he had just trampled on a fortnight ago in the rush to reach his excited little sister. The tiny clouds of exhalation tickling his chin seemed cool enough. The scrape of his boots against the snow-littered ground seemed _real _enough.

Yet…

_Perhaps I am deep in dream. It must be exhaustion._

Nodding at the logic of it, Albus allowed himself to step back inside the house. He reclined on the familiar deep red settee, and tried to block out the wintry silence seeping from the window.

If he wished, he could imagine the lull as a consequence of an ongoing church service.

* * *

He sampled the tea, and promptly violated every parlor etiquette known to adolescents, magical or otherwise.

Grimacing, and considering the benefits of cinnamon with tea, Albus grabbed a towel and hastily mopped at the mess.

He couldn't find his wand. Though…

That should be the least of his troubles. For he was merely in a dream. And dreams are projections of reality, are they not?

Perhaps his subconscious was telling him to improve tea-preparing skills.

_But there better be food in the pantry._

* * *

A few mornings later, and he was still dreaming.

_It's a test of fortitude, _his sleep-clouded brain supplied as he rummaged for breakfast. He tested the milk, and found it suitable. He then paused and surveyed the stacks of bread and fruit and pastry.

"What to eat, what to eat," he absently muttered.

"Buttered toast would be nice," a voice piped up.

Spinning around in alarm, and dropping the jug of milk in the process, Albus gaped at the person easily sitting on the small table. He fumbled for the nearest weapon for defense, and found himself brandishing a cake knife.

"There goes your milk," the other boy continued cheerfully. The tone reminded Albus of unmated socks; he clenched his jaw.

He attempted polite hostility. "You're intruding in my dream."

"Am I? I find it amusing, then. I just woke up from the sofa in the library."

They gazed at each other for a few more moments, then the boy remarked, "You can lower the knife now. And the milk – I could help you with that, but as I can't find my wand…"

Albus eyed the boy warily, then grabbed another towel to clean the mess. No tea, no milk. And the apparition was still smiling. Not that he had any violent thoughts against such a pleasant social manner, but too much of it was already –

The boy stood up and walked towards him. He appeared to be Albus' age, and hence couldn't be trusted with tea preparation.

"Forgive me. I forgot my manners. I am – "

"Oh, no, stop," Albus warned. The other boy looked mildly offended, so he hastily continued," What I meant was, it would be better if we do not know each other's real names." He paused, washing his hands from an ewer. "We're not in the real world, are we?"

The other was silent for a long while, and when Albus finally looked at him, he was nodding slowly. "It is…acceptable. I am…G, then."

Albus hesitated for a moment, then shook the proffered hand. "A."

G's hovering smile turned into a grin. "A. So, let me assist you? Toast?"

* * *

G was only slightly better at preparing tea.

It was six in the evening two days later, and the two of them sat near the fire. G was examining the blank portraits, while Albus was contemplating something.

"You just lightly mentioned not having your wand in your possession. Did you not assume that I might be a Muggle?"

G laughed. "Why, the titles on the books, of course. This is your house, isn't it? Muggles don't have _Tattered Transfigurations_ in their libraries, do they?" He chuckled some more.

Albus then noticed something. "Are you – from these Isles?"

G snickered into his cup. "Sharp. And no, I'm not. Not really."

* * *

"Salt and butter."

"But wouldn't pepper also – "

Albus sneered into the half-empty cream jug. "Pepper? For mashed potatoes?"

"People have different tastes."

A rather sulky silence followed.

Albus sighed. "How about, you can lord over the pepper jar for your potatoes? But I am putting salt and butter on the batch?"

G grinned.

It was a week after he startled Albus into dropping the milk jug, and a fortnight after Albus found himself alone in the village.

"I'll get more potatoes," G said, and walked towards the pantry. However, he paused and twisted his back to glance at Albus. "And most people do put pepper on mashed potatoes, you know."

Albus did not mean to smile a little at that. He focused on the yellow clump of deliciousness and distantly heard the opening of the wooden door.

Followed by a shout, a yelp and scruffling.

He turned around, wooden spoon in hand.

Loaves of bread in wax paper had tumbled on to the stone floor, accentuated by a sprinkling of cinnamon from an upturned jar. A few apples, with plump onions among them, lay scattered near a dark pile of what could only be robes. G was quickly disentangling himself and shoving a dark-haired boy away from him.

Albus strode towards the whole clutter, and when he was near enough, let G grab his robes so that the blond boy can pull himself up.

He tried to keep his voice polite. "What are you doing in my pantry?"

The dark-haired boy's eyes flicked to them, wary yet dismissive, then to the window which framed the snowstorm outside. The stranger's brows furrowed.

Albus cleared his throat.

G, without a curve on his lips, was staring at the new boy. "The host asked you a question."

The boy looked blandly at G for a moment, then turned to Albus. He was rather alarmed when he felt G bristle beside him.

"We must be all confused," the boy said in a surprisingly pleasant voice. "I did not mean to end up in anyone's pantry. And the weather seems wrong."

"Well," Albus said. "It is my theory – "

"And I second it," G interrupted, recovered enough to be beaming again.

" – my theory that we are most extraordinarily trapped in a dream."

The new boy was quiet, his face unreadable. Albus briefly entertained the thought that G was the better company.

Eventually, the third boy ruled, "It is plausible. Yet, very dangerous."

"It is," Albus agreed.

"Both of us, because of that, are not aware of each other's names," G said, picking up the nearest apples.

A rather strange silence fell upon them again.

Albus allowed a mental sigh, before stepping forward. "I am pleased to meet you. A." G copied him moments later.

When the stranger had shaken both their hands, he smirked pleasantly, saying, "Enchanted. You can call me V."

* * *

V redeemed himself by making superb tea.

"You are seventeen? Eighteen?" Albus asked suspiciously.

"Seventeen."

G was snickering, yet again, around his fork.

"And you're not seven, are you?" V told G, in a tone the hybrid of pleasantness and condescension.

Something in G's eyes shifted, but his bright smile remained plastered on his face. "We are all seventeen, I believe. And so A thinks that we are all lousy in making tea."

Albus, slightly alarmed at this assessment, felt himself redden. He decided to pay more compliments to what was supposed to be tossed carrots, broccoli and onions.

V nodded serenely, but Albus could tell that a scathing remark was already on the tip of the other's tongue.

* * *

Albus eventually came to the hypothesis that V was an extremely organized person. It was slightly disturbing.

G confided to him that their companion makes daily lists. "It's like a school timetable," the boy hissed incredulously.

"You should not have looked into it without his permission."

G scoffed at him. "You sound like a severe crone, dear A." Albus scowled.

"As I was saying," G continued, "he wakes up at seven. Makes his tea, eats breakfast. Morning walk follows. Then, he reads. Eats lunch, dozes off. Reads again – at least he is literate – takes a late afternoon walk – "

"I understand, I understand!"

"And he eats illegal amounts of vegetables," G finished with a passionate punch on his palm.

Albus smiled fondly from the fire he was tending. The other boy, in the middle of scratching a sonnet, was sprawled across the rug that Kendra Dumbledore was fond of. It was a concentric elegance that was always in accord with any season. The innermost circle was of deep red material, hugged by oak brown with wispy gold patterns. On the outermost was forest green fur.

"And so now he is taking his afternoon walk?"

"Yes. During winter, no less."

"It must be his training, to write lists of schedules. My mother made us clean cups without magic."

"Or his peculiarity," G countered.

* * *

The three of them were navigating the hall towards Albus' room to get clothing. The passage was dotted with little round tables supporting crystal jars with acorns or berries, or vases full of an assortment of bowed branches. The walls were not bare either. If not burdened by empty portraits, they were decorated by frames of random bursts of colors.

G was debating with Albus on the uses of Switching Spells in shopping. V was walking serenely on Albus' other side, a slight smirk on his lips.

"It's stealing," Albus sighed, reaching for his key.

"But if you paid the shop – "

"A few Galleons short, because it's a different item – "

"Is there not a universal definition for stealing?"

"Is there?"

The door opened and they walked in, Albus heading straight for the wardrobe.

G continued, "But the situation would be just like mutualism, with a slight variation – "

V snorted quietly, scanning the books on Albus' desk.

"Do you hear the ridiculous rubbish you're say – "

Slight pandemonium ensued as Albus opened the wardrobe. He yelped in shock as G quickly grabbed the back of his robes and ducked them to the ground. V, stepping over them, attempted to shut the splayed doors, but the creature inside launched forward and all of them ended on the floor.

Groaning, Albus righted his spectacles and sat up. He found V gripping a struggling body by the arms while G loomed over said body, sitting on its legs. Albus dragged himself closer and was met by panic-filled eyes.

"Don't choke him," he snapped at G.

The new boy gave great gulps as the fingers unclenched from his throat. V was maintaining the unforgiving grip around the arms, but Albus soothed, "It's all right. This is just a dream."

A split second later, it came crashing to him how surreal the whole situation was.

The three of them took in his appearance as the boy calmed down. He had black hair in disarray and wore no robes over the oddest looking clothes.

Suddenly, said boy sat up, head colliding with V's chin. Free from the clutches around his arms, he elbowed G out of the way and scrambled to the wall farthest from them. Albus swore all of that happened in less than 3 seconds.

Wide eyes, full of confusion, took in all of them.

There was an awkward, wary silence. Inevitably, like Arianna hounding snowflakes, the stillness was trailed by suspicious questions from the boy, soothing responses from Albus, eventual amused commentary from G, and a cool assessing silence from V.

Then, there were the three handshakes. It was all very social.

"But," the boy hedged, "if this were a dream, we would eventually forget all of these after waking up, right? Why the fuss on names?"

"Magic is a strange thing," V supplied.

The boy looked at them, then shrugged. There was a strange tug on his lips. "Fine. H. I'm H."

* * *

"So…can I have the biggest room?"

All eyes turned to H, their blissful savoring of the roast beef arrested. It was dinner the next day, and the other three were greatly relieved that they were not to deal with barely edible ventures from the kitchen.

The newest boy was smiling sweetly at Albus, making the latter's tongue tingle all the more with the pleasurable tangle of garlic, wine and pepper.

"You can, I suppose," Albus said slowly. "Since you're the only one in here who can properly cook."

H's smile widened. "Thank you!"

G stared at Albus. V glanced at H.

The rest of dinner was salvaged only by the freshly baked apple crumb.

* * *

The next few evenings passed in much the same way.

After dinner, and the difficult washing up, the four would retire to the sitting room and do their best to exist in the dream.

Albus enjoyed tending the fire and taking down notes from some old volume. He conversed with G on numerous occasions while the other boy was either writing another sonnet or sketching maps of the continent. Sometimes, he talked with V, but the other was usually preparing tea, reading, or interacting with H. Meanwhile, H seemed to delight in scribbling random things ("A waste of parchment and ink," muttered G.), tossing a bauble in the air and snatching it back, and talking with V.

It was January when Albus shuffled into the dining room, huddled in two layers of robes.

V was already drinking tea, lazily drumming his fingers on the table. Albus sat across the dark-haired boy and they greeted each other, simultaneously wincing at the oncoming jaunty walk of G at such an ungodly hour.

H then came out from the kitchen, holding a covered cake plate and a bowl of apples. He set the items down, hints of despair on his face.

V raised his brows as G pulled away the silver lid. Albus was still too drugged by sleep to properly react, but he saw two slices of carrot cake on the platter.

"We're…out of food," H announced.

Albus was certain he had never heard the fire spit so prominently before.

Then, almost simultaneously, V and G stood up.

"I will get the knife," V said.

"I was thinking of doing so, too," G said, with his usual smile, from beside Albus.

"You go on thinking," V rejoined pleasantly, already heading towards the dresser.

"Fine," G said frostily, standing to his full height. "Go get the knife. I will do the cutting."

H was looking rather alarmed – and twistedly – somewhat amused. Albus was starting to regain his senses.

"_I _will do the cutting," V retorted as he returned to the table.

"I don't see how any of this is a great matter," Albus interrupted, also standing. "I will cut the cake."

H brightly dropped on the chair across from G, and the other two followed suit.

* * *

"We can plant," H suggested from the armchair, grabbing a green bauble from the air, only to toss it back up.

"It's winter," V answered, with the faintest hint of patience. "We should hunt."

"We could _borrow _from the neigh – "

"G!" Albus exclaimed.

"Hunting it is," was V's smug verdict.

"Yes, _you _can hunt," G muttered.

"H can help me," replied V, already wounding a scarf around his neck. H stood up agreeably and sauntered to the coat rack.

Albus stared pointedly at G, and the latter raised his eyes to the ceiling before following them to the foyer.

* * *

"What are we hunting, anyway?" H puffed out.

They had been out for more than an hour, clutching wooden contraptions and trudging along the strangely still village. What could pass for an afternoon sun had the sky in light gray swirl, graced by the intermittent appearance and calling of robins and chaffinches.

The cemetery was as lifeless as its inhabitants and the woods beyond it was no better. No deer. No fowl, in the least.

"We're not eating squirrels, though," Albus muttered. G snorted at that.

V stopped in his tracks, eyes glinting. "Is there a pond nearby? Or some body of water?" he addressed Albus.

"Ah, yes! Just south of the market, that."

The body of water turned out to be a pond, indeed, sheltered by clumps of trees which were presently nothing more than gnarled giants.

The four of them silently stood at the edge for a moment, looking at the whiteness of it all, a little lost as to how to proceed.

"It's still all water, under the ice," V started.

The others said nothing, but H bent down and grabbed a stone lying on the bank.

"We should create a hole. For fishing."

"I'll come with you," Albus said, shivering from the cold and a little from apprehension.

G and V looked at him, and he warily placed his arrow on a snow-covered boulder. "The string can be used."

He furrowed his brows, then carefully picked his way towards H. He had never felt this uneasy since learning that his father would no longer be there to hunt with them, or tend the garden with their mother.

Trailing the diligent knocking of H's stone was a faint silver line depicting a quarter circle. Albus crouched across from the boy and began cracking the ice.

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

"What're they doing now?"

"Fixing a fishing rod." Puff. "It reminds me, though." Puff. "That we have no bait."

H chuckled from beneath his scarf, from which his spectacles perched. "They can find ways."

A few moments passed, then Albus said, "But can't you see clearly without your spectacles?"

"I can't."

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

"Well, then. I think you should put it back."

H lifted his head and Albus was uncertain if he should be grateful or not to be subjected to such a bright, almost glowing scrutiny.

"The glasses will fog."

Albus tried to smile. "Oh. Mine doesn't"

"That does not mean mine will not," H said, an edge of knife peeking from his tone.

"I am sorry."

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

The woolen scarf was covering half of the other boy's face, but Albus was relieved when the black head nodded tightly. He glanced towards the bank, and saw two figures separately crouched over their respective fishing equipments.

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

"I wonder how Muggles get by," he tried again.

Nothing but puffing came from across him. Eventually, H said, "They use foresight."

"Yes, but…so do we. So I was wondering – "

"D'you have something against Muggles?"

"I don't! It's just very curious how they survive winter, if they were in our position."

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

"We'll get by."

Albus frowned. "I was talking about _our _difference from – "

The ice in front of him seemed to lurch alarmingly towards his face, and in a shock of silver splinters and immensely cold water, what he only saw was H's arm. Immediately, he snagged it and ended up on his stomach, clawing at the ice for purchase. With a jolt of panic, he realized that it was he who was being dragged at a frighteningly fast pace.

On a turn of his head, the side of his spectacles painfully digging his cheeks, he caught a fleeting vision of rushing dimmed figures before he was plunging face first into the black water.

His exposed skin seemed to catch fire, his scarf and coat burdened him all the more, and he felt H becoming heavier. His nostrils were stinging and – he felt hands around his calves.

Dimly, he felt them slip.

But he was certain he was still clutching H…

A sharp slap yanked his eyelids open.

Albus was assaulted by the cold, and promptly began shivering and spluttering.

"You're alive," G said redundantly, in a hoarse voice.

He sat up and heard V said from somewhere to his side, "Pick up your clothes. We're heading to the house."

As he stood shakily, he caught sight of a very pale and very drenched H. A moment later, he realized that all of them were stripped to their shirts and trousers, all very pale and all very drenched.

* * *

All of the hot water reserved for soup went to the large bath.

Albus bit his lip as V sank into the water with a sigh, and as H poured a bucket of more newly heated water. He was awkwardly hovering by the door, when G returned from the kitchen, clutching a bunched up towel.

"What is with you, A? Join the bath," G said with a little croaky laugh.

H was already relaxing in one corner of the tub, watching G settle bottles and goblets on the towel rack. Grimacing, Albus shrugged off his robe and settled into the water.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he savored the delicious warmth enveloping his skin. Distantly, he heard H and V discussing treacle tart.

"Here we are," G declared, sinking down into the water as well and gesturing to the array of drinks. "What shall you gentlemen have?"

When they merely looked at him, he scoffed good-naturedly and said, "I will have whiskey dosed with water."

"Wine for me, please," Albus said in a gravelly voice.

"Mulled mead, please" came H's husky tone.

"Water, please," said the last throaty voice.

They stared at V.

"It is healthy," he replied with a smirk.

G was passing around the goblets when Albus asked, "What shall we have for dinner?"

"Trout," V replied shortly. "The ones H was clutching when both of you resurfaced."

The snigger spread from G to the rest of them, surprisingly. And pleasantly, Albus thought, feeling more warmth spreading through him.

The bathroom was silent for a few moments, save for the flickering of the candles and the occasional click of glass as someone went for a refill.

"This feels like a dream," H sighed.

"I do not know for you, but this is my home," Albus replied sleepily.

"I am rather fond of this place already," G said from within the depths of his goblet. "House _and _village."

V hummed in agreement.

**_fin_**


End file.
